Leader: Ray Salisbury
Wanting to give those new to snow travel an easy introduction to using crampons and ice-axes, I planned a couple of medium-level excursions into the Hills. Lack of interest cancelled the first trip, and I ran the second one with only three people, which is disappointing.
The rain pelted down on us as we departed the carpark at the foot of the mountain. But we pressed on with a determined stride, up, up, up the 4WD road which is steeper than I recall. [Time: 2.5 hrs]
Rain became snow as altitude was hard-won. Lucky for us, I carried dry kindling and got the woodfire in Fyffe Hut roaring. Three of us in a six-bunk hut was cosy, until at some ungodly hour when a trio of hunters barged inside.
On Saturday, one of the bloke’s cell phones woke us all up in the wee hours. I was not amused.
Our little group decided we weren’t fit enough for a full circuit of the mountain, and chose a leisurely walk up to the summit instead. Crampons were strapped to boots, and we meandered up the vehicle track to the trig in about an hour.
Lunch was wolfed down in the sunshine, then a hasty retreat was made, as the wind chill factor saw the temperature plummet. A steady stream of day-walkers made the pilgrimage all day, following our footprints in the snow.
Back at the hut, we read books, listened to podcasts, and generally gazed out to the ocean, far, far below.
During the afternoon, the local high schoolers appeared up the vertiginous Spaniard Spur track. Their over-enthusiastic teacher allowed them to ‘get lost’ on their very first ever tramp. Not amused, half of them rebelled and returned home. We hosted two remaining girls with their teachers.
On Sunday, we dropped back down the road, grateful for the improved weather. A number of pit-stops were made at various watering holes.
Climbers were: Ray Salisbury (scribe), David Cook and Marie-Anne Hermsen.